


Photographic Memory

by Somecallmemichelle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Mother-Son Relationship, Photography, Spider-Man - Freeform, Wish Fulfillment, cuteness, teenager Spider-man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somecallmemichelle/pseuds/Somecallmemichelle
Summary: Peter Parker meets someone he has long since missed.For the r/fanfiction round 12 prompt, wishfullfilment.





	Photographic Memory

“M...mum?”, the teenager blinked. Unsure of what he was seeing. The boy had seen pictures, old faded pictures with bent corners and a faded in oversaturation due to the sun. He had been small, a little tike. No more than a toddler, really...and he had carried that thing imagining his mother.

 

Those sort of make belief moments had stuck in his mind, so much so that he could not remember if there was some genuine interaction that had been had. He liked to think so, that before carrying that picture around he had felt his mother’s hand, seemingly bony by the picture, tenderly placed around his back. His glasses maybe askew, so she would have fixed it.

 

So it was no wonder that the photo had such wear and tear. As Peter grew his memory of the face of her mum, not to mention dad, would be seared into his head. As he seeked to remember those who had given him life. He had loved Uncle Ben, and grieved properly when he had passed, due to his fault, he thought bitterly. But the Queens raised boy, though he had suffered so much with his death, still missed his parents. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love his uncle, he just held no frame of comparison to his parents, that were a dull thumping ever since he could remember. Like Flash had kicked his stomach again.

 

Sure, he had his mentors, his heroes, but nobody could accuse Tony Stark, former Avenger, billionaire, of being exactly father material. The man had quite a long way to go before he would set down. And start a family? That was a laugh, he had gained responsibility, but not to that extent.

 

The boy rubbed his eyes, as if he had sand on them, this was a deception, someone was putting the wool in his eyes. With every feature in her face plain as day, an infinite amount of times more detailed than any picture. Peter thought the image he was carrying around his head was accurate, but now he realised he had had no idea. It was like a floodgate had been opened. His mouth was dry, he wanted desperately to say something, but words didn’t seem to come to his lips, and even if they did, his throat felt like sandpaper.

 

Peter did what any son in that situation would do. He ran over to her and embraced her. He was strong, even more so given his condition, and this was a silly reaction. But he didn’t care. Childish as it might be at that time Peter Parker was just a kid missing his mother.

 

Her arms felt warm as they draped across his back. Alive, real, Peter’s humongous brain didn’t lack words to describe how great she felt, yet he felt like no composition of words would make it justice. Why speak? The single embrace, the warm hug could tell it more eloquently than he could.

 

He realised he had a wet sensation in his cheek and pins in his eyes. It was a shock to realise he was crying, yet he did not feel the usual weight in the back of his throat that came with crying. Those were tears of joy, not hurt.

 

One of his mother’s hand drifted from the small of his back to his hair. She rustled it, even though there wasn’t much to rustle, as he kept it short.

 

It was a motherly act Peter had seen a thousand times in movies and tv, it was almost a clichê and yet he now understood why it was so often represented. The gesture felt good, a sign of affection  it showed him that she cared for him.

 

They must have held that embrace for hours, just the two of them, each other all that mattered. Though Peter would call himself an observant guy, he couldn’t have told what his surroundings were. What did the background matter when she was all that he could focus on? Like one of his photographs, his gaze was solely on his target...even if all he could see were the nape of her neck.

 

He had understood he missed her and his father, that had been clear throughout his childhood and early teens as with the way the thoughts he had wandered to it randomly. But it wasn’t until he was held by her arms, and he could see the gentle smile on her face, that filled his chest with warmth that he realised just how heavy the burden of their abcense had been. Broken families were nothing new in New York. They weren’t news anywhere, really. But it still took its toll.

 

Peter really did not want to let go. Whether this was an illusion by the Scarlet Witch, or he was just passed out cold, he somehow knew that if he let go it would be the end. That would be it, no more of that touch, no more of that closeness. He wanted to hold in forever. 

 

But he knew that he had to let go eventually, despite a tiny inkling of his mind being aware that this could not be real,  it was still the closest he had been to her. To either one of his parents, really.

 

It almost hurt to tear away from the touch, but Peter was stronger now than he had been a couple months back. So however reluctantly he did just that.

 

For a minute she seemed to linger on, her smile never leaving her face. Peter focused on her features, on every wrinkle, on the way the smile formed little bumps ar the corner of her lips. He formed a mental picture to replace the one from the picture.

 

She seemed to stay just long enough for him to do that, then like strands of sand in the wind she was wisked away.

 

Peter blinked, aware of his isolation. Maybe he wasn’t ready to let go of his past yet, but, overall the encounter had lifted his spirits.


End file.
